Sadiya |REWRITING

Chapter Eleven

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ABUJA, NIGERIA.

Living with her supposed foe was nothing like she thought; husband or not. It was torturing, especially when she was at a period where her hormones could not be controlled. Call her a gobshite, a fool, a horny thirty-one year-old stupidy, but one would not understand what she had been going through; staying under the same roof as her wealthy, hunky as hell 'lawfully wedded' husband. Admittedly, not even Imraan could satisfy her as it was. Fine, probably because she had not been in contact with him over the past three months.

How could she? When Yazid had those sickening eyes of his, on her, ever since he learnt of her pregnancy - 24/7!

One thing though, one thing settled that, in the meantime. He was enough for her before she got tired of him. The most important reason she still 'had him around' was because he, plus Imraan, were the only people that could satisfy her constantly randy self. But as it was, her boyfriend was not in the picture (at the moment), and since Yazid was there, she had the privilege to enjoy him instead.

What? Only because she slept around with another man, to the point of getting knocked up, did not mean she found joy in sleeping with others. Yazid be glad.

That was her point exactly; Imraan was a spoilt child of well-known people in the business world - his father was rich, oldest brother was rich...what more could she have asked for? He knocked her up (that, was still an unknown fact to him), which was her plan all along. Ramlah could have married him, yes, but that was also a problem at some point. Imraan detested the idea of marriage. So, getting pregnant for him was her way of punishing the kid, she thought he had bruised her pride, albeit she'd been on his bed countless times.

Yazid on the other hand, his 'fault' - everyone knew. And his 'punishment' was bringing up another man's child (thinking it's his)...in their matrimonial home. Simple. An eye for an eye. Well, she thought it was just her luck speaking, catching big fishes in her net at once, what more could she have asked for, exactly?

The door swung open and they were met with Amrah's scowl, instantly morphing into a wide grin. "Yaya!" Came her greeting, Ramlah internally grimaced. Yazid only mumbled her name as he reciprocated his youngest sister's smile and accolled her, "Happy birthday, baby. How's 16 treating you?" If it could, her grin widened and she answered, "I turned 16, twelve hours ago, Yaya. So far, it's good." Amrah turned to his wife and greeted her with lesser elan. She thought it was just the diffidence of the teenager.

Yazid's palm on her midback sent a tingly feeling through her being; his gentle touch felt warm...and made her feel...safe. Like moya, she reminded herself where they stood in her plot, gathered her wit from where she had left it off and copied him.

As they stepped into the homey building of the Suleimans, Ramlah allowed her eyes to wander about the creamy and simple, but elegant spacious living room. She could count the times she visited, on one hand. Not letting her orbs wander more than they already had, came his mother's brisk voice. "My daughter!" A warm pair of arms wrapped around Ramlah's stiff figure in a tight embrace.

Clearing any trace of discomfort or awkwardness, Ramlah returned her high-spirited mother in-law's hug. The theory of Arabs' love for hugs came crashing down on her and she could not believe it more.

"Aisa's on her way here," The woman told them, after embracing her son. Ramlah never liked his other sister's guts, and the feeling was mutual, anyway. It was a good thing she schooled in another city. "And no one's here, yet," she smiled. "Everything's set. Let's sit and catch up! It's been a while I saw you two..."